On the Mark
by Alexandra Knight
Summary: Teenage Clint Barton can't catch a break while training with his father's archery set when he realizes that he has made a terrible mistake. AU. T for, well, just in case.
1. Target Practice

**This is my first fanfiction story, so I hope you guys out there will enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! If you're reading this, then it means that I have managed to successfully upload my story without damaging the internet, or everybody's computers. And that's a good thing! For this story, Hawkeye is basically the only non-original character I'm using, so don't be expecting his actual, for reals back story. If any of my characters resembles somebody else's characters, it's pure coincidence, and I apologize.**

**I do not own Marvel or any of it's characters. On with the show!**

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I gripped the bow tighter in my hand. Closing one eye, I took aim at my target. I pulled the string back until it was taut. Taking a deep breath, I centered myself. _Now or never,_ I thought to myself, and get go of the string.

"Clint."

Startled, I turned the bow. The arrow flew harmlessly through the air, lodging itself five inches above the crudely painted-on target. A dozen other arrows were scattered along the wall with it. Only one arrow had managed to reach the red and white target, but it was barely grazing the outer most of the circles. My shoulders sagged; I'd been practicing for weeks with no progress to show for it. Wiping the disappointment from my face, I turned to see my father standing in front of the elevator doorway. His face was grimly set and his brown eyes looked from the mess around the target back to me before he spoke.

"It's getting late. You should start putting your things away and get ready for bed." He started to turn back towards to door before adding, "You shouldn't spend so much time with archery. Some people just don't know their way with a bow." He walked through the doors and the elevator closed, descending back into the building.

I threw my bow down to the ground in frustration. It landed on the cement floor with a satisfying clatter. I ignored it and walked to the low wall of the building's stairwell. The soft plaster meant that I could practice without wrecking the arrows… if you called this practice. I pulled out the arrows one at a time, while muttering under my breath. It was my father's idea to get me started in archery. He was the one who gave me this set for Christmas. I never even wanted the damn thing, and now he had the nerve to insult me? Did he actually want me to quit?

_Crack._ I looked down and realized that, while removing it from the wall, I had snapped one of the arrows in half. I dropped the rest of the arrows that I was carrying to the ground where they rolled and scattered like startled animals. Holding the broken arrow in my hand, I walked over to the edge of the building. Down below, the lights of the city were flashing. The streets were packed, but from the top of the apartment complex, the sound of the traffic was completely muffled.

Standing at the edge, I threw the two halves of the arrow down into the chaos below. I sighed, looking out at the city skyline in front of me. The roof was my sanctuary. It was the one place where I could get away from the stress of life, my parent's separation, everything. When I first moved into this building, I came up to the roof to hide when my parents began fighting, and had spent time here ever since. Nobody else ever came up here, especially not in the frigid February weather. I decided that it was a safe bet that no one would bother me up here, so right after Christmas I brought my archery equipment to the roof. I even painted one of those old-fashioned bull's eyes on the wall. It was fun at first, but after a few weeks with nothing to show for it, I was starting to get on edge.

Seeing that arrow disappear as it fell to the ground made me feel guilty. As much as I'd hate to admit it, I actually did like archery. I couldn't bring myself to purposefully destroy my gear. My father really did have good intentions; he knew I would love to shoot arrows and pretend I was a hero. It's just that I wasn't a natural at it.

I walked back over to the stairwell and picked up the rest of my arrows. I sat down and took the quiver off of my back. Sliding the arrows one by one back into the quiver, I couldn't help but smile a little. Next time I would try harder, get better. I could still improve my shot. I grabbed the quiver by its strap, and carefully tossed it back into its old hiding spot-right above the building's heating duct.

I remembered that I had thrown my bow over by the elevator doors, so I ran over to go pick it up. I gently lifted the bow from the ground, and what I saw made my stomach churn.

I didn't need to bother being careful, but I still held it like a baby bird. The bow had a large crack that almost went through the entire wooden structure. It was almost snapped in half. I traced the fissure with my fingers. I couldn't believe what I was seeing; I had broken my father's hand-me-down bow. I felt empty. I was numb. I bit my lip; I knew that if I stayed outside much longer, my father would come and find me. There was only one thing I could do.

I gingerly put the bow down with the quiver and arrows, and walked back to the elevator. I pressed the cracked, red button and the doors opened. Stepping inside, I took one last glance at my sanctuary, and hit floor 17. First of all, I had to go to bed and get some sleep. Then, I could just come up with a plan later. I would have to find out how to either fix that bow, or get a new one...before my father found out. And I really, really hoped he wouldn't find out.

I was so worried about what I was going to do to fix everything that I didn't notice the elevator slowing down. I looked up at the keypad to see that one of the buttons was flashing. I guess I was in for another stop before I got home. I checked my watch. 10:20pm. I had another ten minutes before curfew, so it wasn't like I was going to be late or anything. The elevator doors slid open, revealing a tall man in standing in the doorway. He stormed inside without looking up, and started swearing under his breath.

He had very broad shoulders, making him look like a brick wall. His grey trench coat was covered with stains, and the bottom was torn, as if he was attacked by some wild animal. Short black hair was barely visible under the rim of his beige fedora hat. He looked frightening.

As the doors slid shut, and the elevator started to descend, the man turned around. He looked shocked to find another passenger in the ride; I guess he was expecting to be alone for the trip. He looked like he had just been in a bar fight, and the smell of alcohol drifting off of him didn't do much for the illusion either. The guy had a strong looking face, with a pronounced jaw line. He had a band-aid over the bridge of his nose, and a splotch of dried blood right over his lip. To wrap the whole picture together, the guy's whole face looked like one giant bruise. His grey eyes stared at me for a few more seconds, then he turned to face the door.

"It's not safe for kids like you to be out this late in a place like this, you know." His voice was gravely, but he sounded like he was actually being pretty sincere. If you didn't count the fact that it sounded like a big threat.

"Kids like me wouldn't give a crap one way or the other _in a place like this_," I said coolly, trying to look more confident than I felt.

The guy turned his head to look at me. At that moment, I was totally prepared for a fight to break down, which would probably end up with me in the hospital. I gave him steely glare. I thought that the guy was going to slug me, but instead he just barked out a raspy laugh. "The name's Spade," he said, then paused for a response.

I cringed internally. I didn't want some creep knowing my name, it would go against everything I was taught as a kid. On the other hand, the guy was being quite civil, and I was afraid of what would happen to me if I didn't say anything. "Barton," I said, deciding to only give him my surname.

The elevator slowed to a stop, and I checked the keypad. Floor 17-my stop. I walked to the doors before they even started opening. I had spent enough time with Spade, and would rather just be in my own apartment. I felt a strong hand on my shoulder, and was spun around by my new acquaintance. Spade was staring at me determinedly; his grey eyes seemed a bit frantic. "Be careful out there Barton," he said coldly. "These are mean streets." He looked at me for another second, then let go of me.

I practically ran out of the elevator, the time for being polite was over. I only stopped long enough to make sure that Spade stayed on the elevator as the doors closed. I hurried past the familiar hallway that I knew so well. I didn't even need to look at the numbers on the doors anymore. Eleventh door on the left. I stopped in front of my door to regain my composure. If my father knew that I was meeting up with strangers during my free time, I'd never be allowed to leave my room again.

Reaching up to my neck, I unfastened the clasp that held my silver necklace together. I held it carefully in my hands, and took the small silver key from where it rested on the chain. If I wasn't home by curfew, my father would confiscate it for a week. I sighed, so many rules for one person. Then I remembered the fact that I would only have to follow those rules for two more years, and the thought made me smile.

I put the key in the lock, and turned the doorknob. The apartment was small, but it was only for me and my father, so it was functional. I looked over at the kitchen, and to the "living room", which only had a couch and a TV. I took off my leather jacket, tossing it carelessly onto the couch. I never had to bother with picking up after myself this late at night, my father didn't really care how clean the place was. I kicked off my shoes while walking to my room. I closed the door behind me, and laying down on top of the bed. I had to run all of the days events through my head to come up with an idea. I would figure everything out tomorrow. Yeah, that was a good plan. I didn't realize just how tired I was, until I fell asleep right there while thinking.

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**It's so exciting to see my story on this site! Of course, it wouldn't have happened without the help of my best freind and editor Patricia Sage. She added important details here and there, stopped my comma overload, and kept me in the past. Tense, that is. Because it would be very confusing to be switching from past, to present, to past again, all in the same paragraph. **

**I'l be writing the next chapter, and try to get it online as soon as I can. If you liked this story, hated it, or even have some useful constructive critisisms to give me, I'd be happy to hear from you!**

**-Alex**


	2. On the Streets

My eyes shot open and I took a few seconds to adjust to the pale light that was shining through my grimy window. The dusty streak of light had landed on the small digital clock on the table beside my bed. I had to squint to make out the faded red numbers on the clock's face. 7:50 am. I blinked once, and again, trying to get the numbers to make sense in my mind.

With a jolt, I jumped out of the bed, suddenly realizing that I was going to be late. I regretted it; my body was still stiff and sore from sleep. I didn't have time to deal with the pain right then, so I blocked it out of my system. Looking down at myself, I noticed that I was still wearing the same clothing from the day before. I grumbled, acknowledging the fact that I was way too tired to be this busy.

I quickly got changed, trying to put the dark thought of what had happened last night out of my mind. I managed to find a moderately clean red shirt in my room, which was lying on the ground next to a couple of socks. I put the shirt on and smoothed out some of the smaller wrinkles. I decided that I would keep my jeans on, because they were just washed two days ago and the dirt didn't show that badly on the black legs of the pants. As I was putting on a pair of socks, I stopped with a smile creeping slowly across my face. I had come up with a plan to fix everything. It wasn't a good plan, or even one that had a decent chance of working, but it was a start.

I tried the doorknob in my room but, like usual, it was jammed. It was always stuck in the winter or whenever the apartment managed to get very cold. Sighing, I used my shoulder to brace myself up against my door and swing it open. The door creaked in protest as it swung out, hitting the living room wall. Half-running and half-walking past my father, who was reading the newspaper on the couch, I grabbed a piece of toast from the kitchen. Shoving it in my mouth, I jogged back to the couch to slip my shoes on.

"Don't forget that I'm going to be working late tonight, Clint," my father said, while folding the paper back up and tossing me my leather jacket. "So that means that you're going to have to make your own supper again tonight. There's frozen pizza in the fridge." He glanced down at his watch, and then added, "If you don't leave now, you're going to miss your bus."

Without pausing for a response, I slipped my jacket on, grabbed my lucky old baseball cap, and burst out of the apartment door. I raced past the hallway and reached the elevator. Luckily, the trip down was quite uneventful compared to last night's fiasco. The lobby was empty, most of the people inside had either already left for work or gone to school. Strolling through the deserted building, I headed outside and, within seconds, I was out of the apartment complex altogether.

I put on my faded blue cap, hoping that it would be enough to cover my dishevelled hair. Taking one last glance at the faded amber building that was my home, I started walking down the street. The school bus stop was at the corner of the block, where a small number of students was already waiting. The bus here was always late but, compared to the rest of the school, there weren't many people at this stop, so nobody ever seemed to really care.

A few of the girls looked up and giggled spitefully as they saw me headed their way. I ignored them as usual, familiar to this old routine. I knew that they made fun of me because I wasn't exactly rich. Nobody in this district was, but my family was particularly bad-off, even for _here_. I shoved past the girls, while getting a few dirty looks from the group. I had to keep walking.

I had decided earlier that morning that I wouldn't go to school. Instead, I'd try to find something -_anything- _to solve my little problem. Deciding that my best bet was to keep heading downtown, I turned left up at the curb. I was about to head down the street when somebody snatched the cap off of my head. Turning around, I saw an all too familiar person sneering down at me, waving my hat in his hands.

"You were right Scott," he said turning back to his friends with mock surprise before turning back to me. "Poor Clint Barton can't even afford to use shampoo!" His bright green eyes focused on me, full of mockery and disgust. His friends behind him were laughing like it was the funniest thing that they had ever seen.

I kept my cool, knowing exactly how to handle our little feud. "You've got that wrong, Mike…" I started, sounding calm and composed. I took a step towards him. I knew that Mike's friends were all cowards and wouldn't do anything to get themselves in danger to help anyone. Mike looked unflustered. He was sure of himself as always, and even casually brushed a hand over his cropped brown hair. "You should do your research," I continued, subtly making a fist with my right hand. Before Mike could even blink, I pulled my arm back, and landed a solid hit to his stomach. Just as he was beginning to bend over with pain, I grabbed both of his shoulders, and with one fluid motion, drove my knee up to his gut. He groaned, and I grabbed my hat back from him before he even hit the ground. The whole fight only lasted a few seconds. "What I can't afford is an alarm clock," I finished, expecting it to sound a whole lot tougher than it actually did.

Mike's friends stood there, frozen to the spot, staring at me. "Shit!" I yelled, putting my cap back on over my hair, and rubbed my right hand. "I think your friend cracked my knuckles." Turning around, I could here them clamouring to lift Mike up as I headed deeper downtown.

Two blocks later, I could see the bus headed down to the bus stop where the other kids were. They were probably all fussing over Mike. I snickered. I definitely taught that guy a lesson that he wouldn't soon forget. If you messed with me, you would regret it. I was the master of these streets. My train of thought sped ahead, and I found myself getting deeper and deeper downtown. The streets were getting more crowded, and shops littered the path.

Before long, something interesting in one of the grungy store windows caught my eye. It shined like a beacon out from the darkness. In the display was a full archery set with a black carbon bow, and it looked brand new. All of the arrow shafts were raven black with violet ends and tips. The quiver was made with the same design as the arrows, and it looked like it could hold twice as many than were in the display case. I thought the colour choice was a bit odd, but it was absolutely perfect. I _needed _that set.

Opening the door to the shop, a small chime sounded, probably to inform the owner that there were customers. Looking around the store, I was surprised to see some of the other items that were on some of the shelves. There was a shield with a star on it, some complicated papers that looked like blueprints, a giant sledgehammer, and even a pair of purple pants.

"Welcome to AV's Pawn Shop. Can I help you?" A young woman appeared from behind the counter, asking politely.

"Oh, well… I…" I stuttered, expecting a bitter old man rather than a kind lady to be running such a gruff shop. "I was just wondering about that bow, the one that you have displayed up in the window. I didn't see a price tag or anything…" I trailed of, figuring that she understood what I was trying to say.

The woman pushed a stray lock of hair from off of her face. She smiled knowingly at me. "That's a pretty nice set, right? We just got it in a week ago! What luck! It's pretty expensive, but for you?" She paused, thinking. "$400, and that's a real discount." She smiled broadly at me, but her warm brown eyes filled with concern when she saw the expression on my face. "Is everything okay?"

My heart sank, and I knew that I couldn't afford it. "Oh, that's okay," I lied, putting on a fake smile on my face. Before the woman could respond, I walked out of the store, and a few shops down I collapsed to the ground in a heap. I put my face on my knees and tried to calm down. To have so much hope, and to have it taken away so quickly was heartbreaking.

When I was sitting there, somebody actually had the nerve to throw a piece of paper at me. I was about to lose it right there, when I realized what had happened. The person had tossed me a $5 bill, like I was panhandling on the street. That's when I got another of my brilliant ideas. I would just ask for the money, the people here weren't too greedy to help out a sixteen year-old boy who was begging for money. It could work!

I took off my baseball cap, and placed it by my shoes, putting the money inside of it. I removed my leather jacket, and hid it by sitting on it. It did look pretty nice, even if it was just an old hand-me-down, and I didn't want people to get the wrong idea. Ruffling my hair, I did my best to look miserable.

Person after person walked by me, giving me spare change whenever they felt generous. It was slow, but after a few hours, the money started to pile up, but still nowhere near my quota. Exhausted, I leaned back on the brick wall behind me for support. I closed my eyes, and even began to relax. A moment later, I could sense that somebody was in front of me. I opened my eyes, and a dark silhouette was blocking out the sun. I put my hand over my eyes, trying to block the glare so I could see who it was. I was so shocked, that my jaw hung open. In front of me was Spade, and in his hand was the purple and black archery set, gleaming in the sun.


	3. Compromises

**Thanks for everyone being patient with this upload, my internet was down for a few months, it seemed even longer than it was. I'd like to once again thank all of the people who reviewed my story, it keeps encouraging me to write even more. And most of all I'd like to thank my wonderful editor, Patricia Sage. Enough with this already, on with the show!**

"What the hell do you want now?"

It wasn't supposed to be an actual question, but apparently Spade couldn't get that through his thick skull. Before he had a chance to respond, I jumped up and gathered my jacket and hat off the sidewalk. I was careful not to lose any of the money—not that it would be of any use now.

I threw the coat over my shoulder and turned my back to the man, trudging away from him. I felt sick, light-headed. What just happened? I mean, talk about mixed signals. On the elevator Spade had seemed like he genuinely cared for me, but now… I frowned, trying to wipe any emotion from off of my face.

_No point in dwelling on things that can't be changed_, I scolded myself. I clenched my right hand into a tight fist and closed my eyes to rein in the feelings creeping up through my chest. It was getting late and I wasted a whole day with nothing to show for it. The school was going to phone home and I'd be suspended for fighting. Not to mention, my father would never trust me again…and it was hard enough to earn his trust after the first time.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and instinctively spun around, swinging my arm forwards. My fist hit something solid, and I could feel my nails pierce the skin of my palm. Spade had caught my hand in his, stopping my punch in its tracks. In reaction to the sudden pain (and _nothing_ else), my eyes started to tear up, so I turned away again. I swore under my breath for showing weakness in front of that bastard, but that didn't stop him from approaching me.

"Oh! Sorry, kid…" Spade spoke hesitantly as he apologized, letting go of my arm and sticking his hands in his jacket pockets. I didn't look at him. Using all of my willpower, I slowly lowered my hand and opened my fist. A thin line of crimson blood dripped from my hand, falling onto the pavement like paint staining a blank easel. Frowning once again in annoyance and discomfort, I wiped my hand on my shirt, which left a darker patch on the already faded red fabric.

"Can't leave me alone, can you?" I snapped at him with a spiteful smile creeping slowly across my face, "You have to kick a kid while he's down, is that it? You have to come down here and make positively sure that I'm stuck here suffering while you—" My tirade was cut off by an object being pushed into my arms. My jaw dropped; I was speechless.

"You left this in that shop back there." The edges of Spade's mouth twitched like he was trying not to smirk at me. He waited patiently for me to gather my thoughts, his clear grey eyes analysing my reaction.

What just happened? Maybe I did end up getting punched out by that wimp Mike. Maybe I got run down by a bus? Was an asteroid supposed to hit the Earth today? I shook my head, pulling myself back into reality.

"I didn't leave it there," I managed to say, "I, well, I mean…I didn't buy it." I gave him my best _who-does-this-guy-think-he-is_ face, which he raised an eyebrow at.

Spade frowned slightly. "You didn't buy it," he agreed, and I nodded because he was finally starting to make sense, not talking nonsense. Then he added, "But it's yours, so I got it for you." He casually stuck his hands back into his pockets, waiting for yet another response. I froze up, unsure of exactly what he expected of me. After a few more seconds of me waiting for the camera crew from _Punked_ to show up, Spade sighed. "I couldn't help but overhear you when I was walking by the store. You were talking about how you couldn't afford the bow, and—"

I winced slightly, and snarled back at him, "Hey, don't—"

"Just listen, boy." He looked me up and down, as if he were dealing with a grumpy German Shepard on the bad side of the fence. "When you left, I went inside and bought this set." He smiled so genuinely that I was caught off guard. The expression didn't seem to match his rough exterior. "It's your bow."

My heart sank and I shook my head, shoving the equipment back in his direction, "No thanks. I can't take this." I thought back to when I was younger, when my father would give me long lectures about having to earn the things I got; about rights, responsibilities, and consequences. I kicked a loose stone on the pavement and watched it clatter onto the road towards the storm grate. The toughest part about this whole thing was that I wanted that bow so _badly_, but I simply couldn't morally allow myself to accept it.

Spade must have mistaken my posture for anger. "Keep it Barton," he smirked, pushing it back into my grasp. He looked from his watch back to me, as if he had somewhere to be. "But, if it bothers you that much..." he materialized a piece of paper from one of his coat pockets and placed it inside the quiver. "Let's say you owe me. You can work off the cost. Meet me at this address, 5 o'clock sharp." He then walked past me as I stared at him in stunned silence. He called out without turning around, "See you around, kid."

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I opened the apartment door and kicked off my shoes with a huff. Who does that guy think he is? Yes, I'm way younger than he is, but he doesn't have to act so stuck-up. I kicked the door shut behind me and the door slammed with such force that the pictures on the wall bounced slightly. I took the strap that held the quiver in place and carefully put it, along with the bow, on the kitchen counter. Even though I'm mad as hell, there's no way I'd risk damaging it.

I threw my hat and jacket on the floor, then collapsed on the couch. The clock on the wall kept creeping closer to 5. I frowned. My father was working late at least; I might get away with this. Maybe. I covered my face with my hands. _Why me?_ I admit, I may be trouble sometimes, but even I didn't deserve this…

I opened my eyes and saw the face smiling down at me, slightly concerned. "Sorry, Mom," I said, "But I'm going through with it." Her faded blue eyes, which were almost always filled with kindness, had a trace of doubt that even she couldn't hide. "Don't look at me like that—I'll be fine… Don't worry about me. I'm okay; I'm all grown up…" My voice cracked, and I suddenly felt like an idiot.

"And I'm talking to nobody." The blonde haired woman in the sepia toned frame, which had been hanging over the television set for years, stared blankly into space. Pictures tended to do that.

I cleared my throat, and decided to something else—other than acting crazy—to fill my time. I marched into the kitchen and checked the messages on the phone. One messages from my father reminding me to make something to eat for tonight, one from school explaining my suspension (which mysteriously got deleted), and one with terrible sound quality. As far as I could tell, it was a woman. That's the only thing I got from that message, it sounded like she was standing in the middle of a construction site…probably a wrong number.

After that was done, I tried to distract myself with other things, but nothing worked. Finally, when I couldn't take it anymore, I gave in and walked over to the bow sitting on the counter-top, gleaming tantalizingly.

I carefully took an arrow out of the quiver and examined it. When I saw this set in the window, I knew there was something odd about it. The arrow's shaft was thin, thinner than what I was used to working with, but that wasn't what threw me off. At the tip, it was flat and dull. I frowned slightly, and took out a different arrow. It had a normal point, so I breathed a sigh of relief. The other wasn't defected; it was just a training arrow, so I didn't shot anyone accidentally! I put the second arrow away, and concentrated on the first one. Why would a training arrow be mixed in with the others?

As I stared at the useless tip on the arrow, I got that feeling that somebody was watching me. I quickly looked out the kitchen window and in time to see the old woman scowling at me from the apartment across mine. I glared right back. She was always calling my father at work or coming to our place after he got home. She thought it was her job to tell him if I was doing anything "reckless" or "stupid" while he was gone. Maybe she thought of herself as a concerned-grandmother-type…maybe she simply hated me. It didn't make any difference to me; I just found her annoying.

I waved patronizingly at her, making her scowl even more. Yeah…don't really think she's much of a concerned grandmother… I grinned wickedly and picked up my flat arrow. I waved it in front of the window like a toreador taunting a bull, hoping she thought I was crazy. When she realized what it was, her eyes went wide. I chuckled darkly before grabbing the shaft of the arrow with my right hand and closing my eyes. This would teach her to spy on me.

I stabbed the tip of the arrow to my chest; it would have pierced my skin if it were sharper. Instead, I felt a shock go through my body. My knees buckled out from underneath me, and I hit the linoleum flooring hard. I dropped the arrow and lay there, catching my breath, until I stopped seeing spots. "Ouch."

I sat up slowly and my eyes caught the weapon that had rolled out of my grasp. I leaned over and held it carefully with a new appreciation. I jumped up and closed the blinds, tired of people staring at me like I was crazy.

The rest of the quiver was still a mystery to me, so I emptied it out onto the counter for inspection. There were five different shapes of arrows, including the flat one. I was tempted to see if they were as effective as the first one, but I had a feeling I'd have to check them out later…or at least find a different test subject. My arms were still tingling from that ordeal.

I sorted the arrows into groups, but couldn't stop myself from picking up the flat one, once again. I shook my head, amazed at how—literally—stunning it was. In fact, it was slightly difficult to set it to the side, since I was slowly regaining feeling in my limbs.

The second group of arrows was completely normal; I swear, I couldn't find anything weird about them. Actually, they were just like the ones I was used to working with. The third group included arrows like the first, except they had a black tip, rough like it was carved out of rock. I was tempted to hit them against the wall to see what would happen, but I pushed that thought out of my head. The fourth arrow made me smile. It was shaped like a heart and, before I could stop myself, I pictured me dressed up in a pink diaper frolicking around on Valentine's Day, shooting arrows at people. I grinned and shook my head. As long as I could help it, that was not going to happen.

The last arrow confused me. It looked like a miniature hockey puck was glued onto the shaft, which weighted it heavily towards the tip. But, how was it supposed to shoot straight? I had enough trouble with _normal_ arrows. It took a closer inspection before I got it and then I involuntarily gasped. This was not a toy. The small blinking light on the side told me that much. _This could do some damage… _I thought to myself darkly.

I checked the quiver to make sure that I didn't forget any arrows, and saw a small slip of paper on the bottom. Right, Spade had left that for me…to pay my dues. I frowned and picked it up.

1421 BLOCK WEST APP. 129

Wait, what time did he say he wanted me to meet him? I pictured his eyes, an icy grey, as he said, _Meet me at this address, 5 o'clock sharp._

Shit!

I frantically looked to the clock. 5:03pm. Maybe this clock's fast. I thought to myself as a grabbed my jacket and slipped on my shoes without tying the laces. He won't even notice. Even through the feeling of panic in my chest, I smiled as I ran out of the apartment and to the streets once more.

**Well, I hope you liked this chapter as much as the other ones, hopefully it won't take as long to get the next one published! **

**-Alex**


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